a distinct lack of subtlety
by JDPhoenix
Summary: Any good specialist is okay with sleeping in unfamiliar places but no specialist is okay with their very untrained team doing the same. It does have its benefits though.


AN: I don't own the MCU or any related characters. I'm just taking them out for a spin.

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><p>Any good specialist is okay with sleeping in unfamiliar places. It just comes with the territory. Tonight might be a mansion. Tomorrow might be a gutter. But no specialist is okay with their very untrained team sleeping in unfamiliar places - especially when those unfamiliar places are crowded hotels. A building that everyday sees a turnover of hundreds of visitors, many of whom leave behind no traceable intel, is not Grant's idea of relaxing.<p>

He makes the most of it though. He checked every hotel room top to bottom (even May's, much to her consternation) and forced the others to wait in the hall while he did it. And he does get one benefit from sleeping not-on-the-Bus that more than makes up for the stress. In fact, right now he's about as unstressed as he gets.

He stretches a little and pulls Jemma closer against his chest. She wriggles closer still, her hips shimmying against his so he's almost ready for another round by the time she settles. She sighs in a way that fills her whole body and he feels it down to his toes. He pushes his own desires aside. They're both exhausted from the mission (and the sex, he's not gonna lie) and need the sleep. And though he might be in a hotel room, wrapped around Jemma he's as comfortable as he can possibly be.

Of course the phone rings.

Grant actually growls. Jemma shifts sideways out of his hold so he can reach over her for his cell. Her hand at her mouth does exactly nothing to hide her laughter.

"It's not funny," he says. "It's probably trouble."

"_It's_ not funny," she agrees, "but _you _certainly are."

He elects to ignore that in favor of reading the text. It's from Skye. He might just kill her for this. As much as she teases the two of them about their not-so-secret secret relationship, she should know exactly what they're doing right now.

"What does she say?" Jemma asks as he settles into the bed beside her. She doesn't bother to wait for him to read it and curls over his shoulder to look for herself.

_ Do NOT come out of your room._

Grant frowns at the phone and then at Jemma, who's obviously thinking the same thing he is. There is almost zero chance of either of them coming out of this room before checkout.

"Definitely trouble," she says.

He rolls out of bed. His clothes are all over the place but he's got a change in his overnight bag, along with several small arms. Behind him he hears the bed shift as Jemma leans over the edge to see what he's doing. He holds an ICER out as he tugs a pair of pants from the bag. She takes it, even if it falls a little heavily from his hand.

"You think we'll have to fight our way out?"

"Hopefully not. And even if we do, we're not the only agents in the hotel right now." He doesn't just mean the rest of the team. There are over two dozen SHIELD agents currently housed in the building thanks to today's upset. (Fury claims the Bus will be aired out and disinfected by morning but since his private jet is in the same predicament, that probably has priority.) Whatever's going on, this many agents should be able to contain it, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

Grant says as much as he pulls on his pants. He doesn't bother with a shirt for time's sake, but on his way to the door grabs his leather jacket. It's heavy enough to guard against at least a few injuries if there's a fight waiting for him out there. He gestures over his shoulder for quiet (not that Jemma's making any noise) and listens at the door. There are definitely people in the hall and they're having some sort of disagreement. He grabs the ice bucket from next to the door and rolls out his joints. He's still pretty relaxed from his workout with Jemma but he's gonna need a little extra loose to pull of a drunk walk.

Drunk is actually one of the tougher covers. It requires acting impaired but also acting like you're trying not to look it. Grant and Trip once wrote off a trip to New Orleans during Mardi Gras by convincing Garrett they were going to learn how to be drunk. It was highly educational, both about how drunk people act and how vicious Garrett can be when people try to pull the wool over his eyes.

Grant keeps it tight as he heads out the door, saving the weaving and stumbling for the hallway when he doesn't have a not-girlfriend to safely close inside their room. He lifts his head sleepily in the direction of the arguers to give them a hello nod and a once-over at the same time. The gesture stalls about halfway through when the men's identities register. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are standing across the hall, arguing about the hotel suites being rented out and the wisdom of buying the hotel just to so they can kick out someone else (likely a SHIELD higher-up if Grant's right about the arrangements).

The bucket doesn't slip from his hands but it's a near thing. A thousand facts flit through his brain in a matter of seconds. Stats on both men's skills and threat levels; Fitz in the lobby earlier, begging Skye to hack him a spot at the engineering conference the hotel happens to be holding; the secret of Coulson's survival; the sheer, unbridled power of Bruce Banner when he gets pissed off; Jemma's current location less than twenty feet from all that power; her complete inability to lie.

The text was so he would keep her in the room, keep the team's biggest blabbermouth in the room. That … would've been useful information two minutes ago. He is definitely killing Skye.

He's been standing here too long. Stark and Banner have noticed him.

"Yeah," Stark says, rolling his eyes, "I get that a lot."

He pulls a crumpled and stained cocktail napkin from his pocket and holds it out to Grant, probably thinking he wants a souvenir. When Grant doesn't take it, Stark gives him a little disapproving glance, as if to say, "what? You're too good for Iron Man's trash?"

"Just so you know, this?" Stark gestures between himself and Banner. "Not a thing. I'm in a committed relationship these days and he's …" He turns that probing gaze on Banner.

"Not interested?" Banner says, apparently not much more interested in the conversation than he is in a sexual relationship with Stark.

"Got issues. Lots of issues."

Grant is a highly trained specialist. He should be able to find a way out of this conversation but there's something about Stark's rambling that glues him to the spot. Also, he kind of doesn't want to make any sudden moves around Banner.

"Remember this moment," Stark says. "You'll be telling your grandkids about the time you met two Avengers in a hotel hallway while wearing a truly courageous outfit. Seriously. Jacket with no shirt? Isn't that wildly uncomfortable?"

"I was in a hurry," Grant says stiffly. He makes to move (_slowly_) down the hall but he doesn't make it more than a step before the door behind him is opening.

He probably should have known better than to expect Jemma to stay put.

"Honey?" she asks in a passable attempt at sounding like she just woke up. "What's taking so- oh my."

Stark again holds up the napkin. "Yep. It's me."

Grant whirls on the spot and grips Jemma's shoulders. He is _not_ distracted by the sight of her in his shirt and little else. (He does however, file away the image for later enjoyment.)

"Let's go inside, _honey_."

Jemma, being Jemma, ignores him. She ducks under his arm to reach the two men. He could stop her of course, but his shirt does nothing to hide the nasty bruise she's sporting from today's mission. It's not damning but he definitely doesn't think the self-professed superheroes will take too kindly to him throwing his half-naked girlfriend over his shoulder and carrying her into their hotel room.

"It is _such_ an honor to meet you-"

"I know," Stark says.

"-Dr. Banner."

Stark's shell shocked expression might just be worth however badly this is going to go. It is _not_ worth the near stroke Grant's likely to get from watching his not-girlfriend shake Bruce Banner's hand. She grabbed the hand of a man who can turn into a behemoth at the drop of a hat. She might be the craziest person he knows.

"I have read all of your genetics research. It was …"

She's actually at a loss for words right now. Grant's a little less proud of doing the same to her only minutes earlier.

"Life changing." She finally drops Banner's hand as she clasps hers over her mouth in horror. "I mean- not in the same way. Obviously. Oh no," she moans.

"You've read my research?" Banner asks.

"Oh, yes! I'm a biochemist. Dr. Jemma Simmons."

Stark's eyes narrow at first Jemma, then Grant. He leans into Banner's personal space and asks, "I thought all your research was classified?"

"It is!" Jemma says helpfully. "I'm with SHIELD. I have my badge-" She reaches for her hip and even with her back to him, Grant can see her dawning horror. "In my pocket," she says slowly. She twists to whisper to Grant, "I'm not wearing any trousers!"

"I noticed," Grant says dryly. He keeps his eyes on Stark, who doesn't look lascivious but who _is_ staring at Jemma's legs. Committed relationship or no, if it turns out old habits die hard, Grant is more than willing to kick an Avenger's ass.

"What is it with hot scientist women forgetting their pants?" Stark mutters to himself.

Banner's looking a little unnerved by Jemma and she's trying to tug Grant's shirt lower around her legs. It's probably time this ends before Jemma remembers she's keeping a secret from these men.

"Let's go," Grant says. Before Jemma can protest, he wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her right off her feet. He's glad to feel the ICER in the waistband of her underwear; at least she planned ahead when she came out here.

"But!"

"Nice to meet you both," Grant says not at all sincerely and slams the door behind him.

"Grant!" Jemma yells when he puts her down. "Do you have any idea who that was?"

He could just remind her of Coulson and end this whole argument before it starts but that would only make her self-conscious and he doesn't want that. Instead he puts his hands on her shoulders and bends down to look her in the eye.

"We're off the Bus," he says.

It clicks pretty quick. Off the Bus, not on a mission means they can be a couple and neither of them want to waste that time. Not even for science or hero worship. Or, in Grant's case, moving to a different hotel. Preferably one with less Hulks. (He's already got three escape plans if this overnight turns sour, two of which can be adapted in case of a big, green crisis.) Jemma smiles shyly and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

He undresses as well and grabs his phone to shoot off a quick text to Skye before climbing back into bed with Jemma. Someone needs to be warned that Stark's gonna be looking into what SHIELD agents are doing here. Grant could do something about it himself but he's all booked up. He's got a not-girlfriend to sleep with.


End file.
